"That was fast."
"Apparently she knows how to take care of her repeat customers," Duke said wryly, practically spitting out the last couple of words.
"Hell, I'm surprised she remembers you. After the past couple of years..."
"Don't remind me."
"I'm just saying. You've been ... happy."
"I've been content."
Ben shrugged to hide his own resignation. His defeat. "Same difference, right?"
"No," Duke insisted, speaking vehemently. And yet there was the slightest hint of sadness in the way he spoke, too, his eyes intense as he stared Ben down. "It's not the same thing at all."
The whole rest of the night, those words would haunt Ben. He watched Duke put back too many beers to count while nursing his own. Before long, he switched to soda, knowing he would have to be the one to get Duke home tonight. That was how things went. As Duke went on about his whole sad romantic history, Ben listened and said all the right things. But in the back of his mind, he was thinking about contentment. He thought about settling.
He thought about the half dozen men he'd tried to make it work with and about how, every time, when all was said and done, he'd let them go without remorse. Because every time, Duke was there, patting his shoulder as he drowned his sorrows at this very bar.
And that comforting touch electrified him the way that no one else's ever could.
Finally, Mike cleared away the last pint glass. Duke lifted his head and opened his mouth, but Mike cut him off. "Sorry, man. That was last call."
"Come on," Duke said, slurring his words. "One more."
Mike just shook his head and cast a sympathetic look at Ben before walking away. Ben took his cue and slipped his arm around Duke's shoulders, beginning to haul him up off of the stool. "There's plenty more at your place," he promised, figuring Duke would be passed out by the time they got there.
To Ben's surprise, Duke shook his head fiercely. "Don't wanna go there." He let Ben pull him to his feet anyway, slumping against his body as they began to stagger toward the door.
"Oh, really?"
"Nope." He spat. "Smells like her."
Ben swallowed, hesitating on the threshold. "So where to then?"
"Don't care. Your place?"
With a deep inhale, Ben nodded, bracing himself before stepping forward. It was still raining out, the night black and the air cool and damp. He moved them quickly to the passenger's side of the car, unlocking it and then holding it open as Duke melted into the seat.
The drive back to Ben's house was short, and he half thought Duke had passed out after all until his friend spoke up, groaning quietly. "Can we change this shit?"
"Hmm?" Ben glanced over to find Duke pointing at the radio. It was tuned to a classic rock station – one that they both liked. But then the lyrics registered.
You're in my heart, you're in my soul...
Ben hit the button to turn the damned thing off before another word could bleed out. As he returned his hand to the steering wheel, he thought about what Duke would have heard in it. The story of attraction and love. Of choosing one person above all others.
But all Ben could hear were the words that would have come next.
You are my lover, you're my best friend.
For sixteen years, he and Duke had been best friends. And ever since he'd known what lovers were, he'd wanted them to be that, too.
"Thanks, man," Duke croaked.
"No problem. You know I hate Rod Stewart."
Well, he certainly hated him, now.
The walk from the car to Ben's house went more or less the same way the walk from the bar had, Duke's body pressed against Ben's side, his steps uncertain. Inside, Ben didn't bother to turn on the lights; the glow from the open blinds was enough. Walking past his own bedroom door, Ben felt a low pang of longing. It was so easy to imagine everything being different. That Duke was here because he wanted to be, and not just because it didn't smell like his ex.
It would be so good to fall asleep in strong, warm arms.
Sighing, Ben kept walking, though, pushing open the door to the spare room Duke had slept in so many times before. "There you go," he said as he lowered his friend's body down onto the mattress, already preparing himself to step away. To go to bed and sleep alone.
Only it didn't quite work out that way. Duke didn't let go, or the booze made him fall. Or maybe both. Somehow, for an instant, Ben ended up on top of him, lying there on the bed, their whole bodies aligned.
Even drunk and angry, he smelled so good.
Ben couldn't quite suppress the low groan at the feeling of being pressed against the length of Duke's frame, and his body was quickly responding. Realizing he was still lying there on top of him, his surprise and pleasure paralyzing him, Ben scrambled, trying to think of the right words to say and trying to find the will to push himself away.
"Oops," Duke said, laughing.
It was the splash of cold water Ben had needed. Reminding himself that, in Duke's eyes at least, this was just a mistake, Ben pushed himself up. But as he did, he imagined he felt Duke's hand on his waist, holding him there for a second as his eyes closed.
Ben tore himself away from both the heat of Duke's body and the warmth of the dream. "I'm sorry," he muttered gruffly as he regained his feet.
"S'okay."
"Good night, Duke."
"G'night, Ben."
Ben made it all the way to the doorway before turning to look back. Duke's eyes were already closed, his body sprawled across the bed, his arms and legs spread wide. Even in his sleep, his hand twitched, and Ben could almost feel it again. He could taste the memory of a willing touch.
But it wasn't meant for him. Not really.
Finally, he closed the door. And then he slunk off to his own bed. Alone.
For the longest time, Ben lay there, tossing and turning. There was something restless to him, and he didn't know if it was just Duke being single again or if it was something more. If it was all the little teasing touches and the words that were begging to have more read into them.
All the years he'd spent now, loving and wanting.
Ben and Duke had met when they were twelve. It had been their first Little League practice, and Ben had been new to town. Back then he'd been scrawny, the blond hair he now kept cropped close to his skull a curly mess. His mother had called him sensitive. His father had called him much worse.
At first, he'd been afraid to talk to much of anyone. He'd already noticed the way the sight of other boys made his throat go dry, and seeing them engaged in physical activity made it all even worse. Then, in a moment of distraction, he'd heard people calling to him, and he'd looked up to find a baseball hurtling toward him. Just as it had been about to make impact with his nose, he'd felt another body collide with his, sending them both tumbling to the ground.
Over and over, Ben had apologized for not paying attention, but the dark-haired boy with the beautiful smile had told him it was no big deal as he'd helped him up.
They'd been best friends ever since. Duke had introduced Ben to the gym when they'd gotten to high school, and he'd never once made fun of him. Not even when he came out at age seventeen. They'd roomed together in college and bought houses just blocks away from each other. There had been moments when they'd been so close ... so close.
Over the years, that dark-haired boy had turned into self-assured man, and his smile had only gotten more beautiful.
Ben punched down his pillow and turned over onto his side, trying not to think about that smile or about the fact that only a single plaster wall stood between them.
A plaster wall and sixteen years of friendship.
It might as well have been the Great Wall of China.
****
Both men looked a little worse for the wear by the time they pulled up at Kylie's the next day. Ben had eventually fallen into a fitful sleep, but he'd woken early, still unsettled. Duke had been up repeatedly, too. Ben had heard his stomach emptying even from the next room.
Her station was already set up – the big leather chair tilted back and the bottles of colorful ink lined up. Ben took up his usual position in the seat beside the wall, grabbing a magazine on his way. He knew he wouldn't end up actually reading it, but it was useful to have something to at least pretend to look at.
He didn't even keep up that much of a façade when Duke pulled off his shirt. And when Duke opened his pants, revealing smooth, tan skin without a hint of either boxers or briefs, Ben was especially glad to have the magazine. He held it over his lap, desperate to hide what was happening inside his own jeans.
"So," Kylie started, moving around her chair and donning a pair of gloves. "What did she do this time?"
Duke sighed as he eased back into the seat. "I don't want to talk about it."
"If you say so." She held up the thin sheet of tracing paper for Duke's inspection. "This what you had in mind?"
Ben admired it from where he sat. The design was smaller than most of Duke's other pieces – just two little curved shapes with points on the end that Ben thought looked like blades. Duke examined it more closely before nodding and then pointing to a spot just below his navel and above his left hip bone.
Kiley raised an eyebrow at him, but Duke just shrugged. "If I hadn't been thinking with my dick, I would have gotten out of it a lot sooner."
"Isn't that always the truth."
Within minutes, Kylie had the design transferred to his skin, and it wasn't much longer after that before the low hum of the tattoo gun joined the music playing in the shop. As always, Ben split his time between carefully-timed glances at his magazine and even more careful ogling.
Duke was beautiful. He always had been. Their regular workouts had made him buff in all the right ways, and Ben didn't get enough chances to simply sit there and appreciate it. His eyes moved over the defined muscles of his chest and to the lines of tight abs, lingering long at the beginning of the V that led down to the part of Duke he really wanted to see. To taste.
To fuck.
The sound of a throat clearing brought Ben out of his fantasy, and he tore his eyes from Duke's body in a panic, a cold fear possessing him that he'd been caught. When he looked up, though, Duke's eyes were closed.
But Kylie's were open. And she was winking at him.
Ben felt his face heat as he returned his gaze to the magazine. He'd long suspected that she knew how he really felt, but now there wasn't any doubt. Not that he was ashamed about it. Unfortunately, the only person Ben really wished that he could tell was the one person that could never know.
Refusing to be caught staring so shamelessly again but unable to keep his eyes trained on the blur of text in front of him, Ben let his gaze drift up once more, looking this time not so much at Duke's physique as at the lines of ink that adorned it. There was the barbed wire that encircled his right bicep and the huge whorl of bladed shapes around his other shoulder. Sharp curves on his shin and a series of spikes along his spine.
Each one he had gotten after a particularly painful breakup.
"Love is pain," he'd explained as he'd sat in that same chair a decade earlier. "It always cuts me, and it always ends. Always. Every single time, except – " He'd cut off abruptly at the point, never finishing the sentence and refusing to look Ben in the eye.
Ben hadn't pressed.
His eyes were still tracing over the way the ink hugged Duke's bicep when the hum of the tattoo gun shut off abruptly. Duke's eyes drifted open, the cool blue of them zeroing in immediately on Ben, and for a minute their gazes held. But then Ben looked away, unable to stand the intensity of Duke staring into him that way. He felt like if they kept it up for even a second longer, Duke would see everything, all the things Ben couldn't bear to show. Not to him.
"Let me bandage this up and you'll be all set," Kylie said.
"Thanks." With their connection severed, Duke looked down, taking in the way the sharpness of the ink stood out against his skin.
Ben stood and walked over to the leather tattoo chair, wanting nothing more than to reach down and run his hands along the edges of the raised, pink skin. His hands curled into fists to keep him from doing just that. "Feel any better?"
"A little. It makes it ... sort of final, you know?"
"Yeah." Ben didn't entirely know what to do with that. Usually when Duke declared something to be final, it meant he was ready to put himself out there again. Ben had been hoping for at least a couple of weeks of having Duke all to himself.
Kylie moved back to Duke's side, bumping Ben in the process and forcing him to grab onto Duke's shoulder to keep himself from falling over. His mind only had an instant to recognize the feel of hot, bare skin beneath his fingertips before he was righting himself and letting go, staring down at Kylie with a scowl. His annoyance was only fed by the way the girl smirked as she affixed the bandage.
Duke, for his part, didn't seem to flinch.
When Kylie was done, she led them back up to the front of the shop. On the way, Duke fixed his pants and threw back on his T-shirt, while Ben lamented the losses – the actual loss of his access to that skin and the anticipated loss of yet another opportunity.
The grayness of his mood settled thickly over him even as Duke finished settling up his account and as they headed out to the car. By the time they pulled up outside of Madigan's, parking beside the truck Duke had abandoned there the night before, Ben's stomach was falling, an anguished hopelessness settling over him.
The man he wanted – the man he had always wanted – was single. And it didn't change anything.
Duke would never, ever want him back.
"Are you okay?"
Ben looked over at the passenger's side to see that Duke had the door open, his body already angled to go. "Yeah," he managed to choke out, directing his eyes downward, his hands tight around the steering wheel.
But Duke wouldn't let it go, and when Ben felt the warmth of his friend's hand on his arm, the very tenderness of that touch – so right and yet so wrong – burned. "You don't look okay."
"I'm fine." He looked up and forced a smile. "I promise."
Duke searched his eyes for a moment. "Okay," he said slowly. "If you say so."
"Of course."
After casting one last, concerned glance back at him, Duke hefted himself out of the car, then turned and bent down to peer back into it. "If that changes. Or if you need anything..."
Ben's eyes stung. He had to go. "Who else would I call?"
Smiling, Duke patted the top of the car and stepped aside to close the door. The instant Ben was alone in the confined space, he let out a sigh of relief. But it still didn't soothe the ache.
"Hey, Ben," Duke called out. He leaned down again to speak through the open window, blue eyes so warm and soft, and somehow that unexpected sight of him just made all the feelings in Ben's chest churn hotter. "Just ... thanks. For last night and today and ... everything."
Ben plastered a smile on his face, holding it together for another minute. "Anytime."
He pretended to fiddle with his phone as Duke stepped back. But really, he just sat there, watching the man he loved get into his truck and drive away.
When Ben got home, he set about doing all the things he usually did on a Sunday afternoon to get ready for the week ahead, but eventually he found himself sitting on the couch, flipping through channels. One of his teams was playing, so he settled on that. He knew Duke would have come over to watch it with him if he'd asked, but he needed the time to think. To grieve, really.
He needed to get his head around the idea of moving on.
Two hours into the game, he looked up to discover he had no idea who was winning
, and even more, that he barely cared. Still, he didn't have the energy to move or the will to look for something better to do. The game ended, and the talking heads appeared, rambling on in a low hum of meaningless words. With the sun low in the sky, Ben could feel his stomach rumbling. But he didn't care.
The post-game wrap-up had slid on into something else when the bright peal of the doorbell broke the relative quiet. Ben startled and sat up straight on the couch, clumsily reaching for the remote to silence the television before rubbing his hand across his face. Part of him wanted to just ignore the intrusion, but with his car in the driveway, he couldn't exactly pretend he wasn't home.
He finally made his way to the door and peered through the peephole, only to see blue eyes staring back at him. The dull ache in his chest tightened, and he pressed his forehead to the wall for a second, his eyes squeezing shut as he braced himself to pretend that everything was fine.
He was so tired of pretending.
With one more deep breath, he pulled open the door and pushed his best smile across his face. Even he could tell that it was weak, though.
"Hey," Duke said, holding up the case of beer he'd brought. "I hope you don't mind..."
It didn't escape Ben's notice that Duke would never have been so tentative about dropping in like this before.
"No. Come on." Ben stepped out of the way to let Duke through, before following him to the kitchen and accepting the beer he proffered.
"So," Duke started but then hesitated. He leaned back against the counter. And it was all so awkward. "I just, um ... I was wondering ..." He swallowed and fidgeted with his bottle before beginning again. "I need to change the bandage. On the new ink."
"Right."
Duke looked up at him, and there was something in his eyes, Ben thought. Something new. "Remember how you helped me? Last time? With the one on my back."
Ben was getting hard just thinking about it. "Sure."
"Would you help me with this one?"
The beer bottle slipped in Ben's fingers. He just barely recovered before it could fall to the ground. "But ... I ... Just ... Really?"
"Yeah," Duke broke in, his voice low. "Will you?"
Don't Read in the Closet volume one Page 33
